Jealousy Takes One Far
by Cookie Master's Apprentice
Summary: I hate my brother. I hate the way my parents favored him over me. He could go die on the street for all I care. Still, this...this wasn't what I wanted. But I can save him. The question is: how far am I willing to go for him - or for myself?
1. Prologue

**Jealousy Takes One Far**

**Prologue**

* * *

They were laughing. Happy, yes, they were happy. Happy for _him_, because apparently _he'd_ done what they've always hoped for him to do. Yeah, I know, _he_ got a real cool degree and stuff, and then suddenly I was in the shadow again, like I didn't even _exist_. Is this what every second-born kid feel? I should start a club on Facebook about "Parents Favoring Their Eldest" and see how famous it would be. Probably really famous. My parents can't be the only rotten sexist couple in the world, after all.

Well, we were Asians. Asians like their eldest and their boys. I'm a girl. I'm second. I'm trash. I should've known that long ago. But that was so _unfair_. This is America. Why can't I be treated with the same respect as my brother? Why must my parents always, _always_ treat me like a maid and him like a prince? It's _Kathy, get the conditioner going_,_ Kathy, start dinner_, _Kathy, fetch your brother_, _Kathy, do your homework_ and _Kathy, get us some tea_ all the time. Where is _Kathy, you've done great!_ or _Kathy, good job_, or just _well done, Kathy_? Where?

Oh, of course, all the flamboyant praises were wasted on my pig-headed big brother. He's just got out of college. Now he's going to have a life and Mom and Dad will spend the rest of their miserable lives telling me to "look up to that guy who is the embodiment of success, Kathy!"

Repulsive.

Mom's coming up. She's gonna tell me to stop writing whatever nonsense down and start getting a life soon. Yeah, that's exactly what she would do. And what did she tell dear Ren? "Let your imagination guide you, honey". Fair. Real fair.

"Kathy, we're going out to eat," Mom said cheerily. Then her voice switched to the disapproving tone when she saw me typing away on my computer. "Daughter, you know I don't like it when you –"

"Try to be an author when I so obviously severely lacking in skills," I finished the sentence for her glumly. "Yes, _Mother_, I know. But I am fourteen, and I have free time, and I have ninety-nine in my progress report. Can you not give me a bit of freedom?" I pressed the word _mother_ as much as I dared to.

The floorboard cricked as she shifted. "Well, of course…But I want you to follow the teacher's career –"

"This is about _me_, not you," I interrupted her again, cringing as soon as it got out. Oh, great. Rule number one in Vietnamese traditions: _never_ disrespect your parents in any way. They are gods. They have every right to hit you as they have every right to kill you – which was a lot. And interrupting them is always a _very_ bad idea. Not to mention I've just said something _very_ disrespectful.

"Mom," another voice said carefully. I closed my eyes, refusing to turn my chair around. Oh, here comes my bane. "Mom, let it go. Dad's waiting. Can you wear that silver dress for me? I think you look fantastic in it." My blood boiled. Womanizer. Sweet-talker. Moron. Fu-

"You will break some hearts very soon, young man!" Mom giggled. Her footsteps faded as they walked down the hall. "Dress up nice, Ren!"

"I will, Mom," he answered smoothly. My fists clenched as I felt myself began to shake. So _this_ is hatred, eh? This…this irritating, _itchy_ feeling inside me. It might have been annoyance, but annoyance could never be this intense. I bit down on my lower lip and closed my eyes even tighter. This wouldn't be a good time to lose control.

Of course, the moron paid no heed. "Our parents' kinda uptight, huh?" he said, and I could imagine him running his hand through his hair as he shifted from foot to foot. Just who are you trying to fool, dear brother? Do you think that _I_ will fall for something like that. "But at least Mom's better than Dad. Did you remember that day some years ago –?"

"Get out," I grounded out, trying to just imagine my hands wrapping around his throat and squeeze and not actually _doing_ it.

He shut up instantly. Good. Keep that mouth of your shut, you stupid fool. I don't need your sympathy. I don't need your help. I don't need you to care. I want you dead. I want you gone from my life. I want to be the only child, and not a girl. _I_ want to be babied. How could _you_, who've had our parents waiting at your hands and feet your entire life even _talk_ to me about them being uptight?

"_What do you know_?" I growled loudly, spinning around and standing up, facing him. Yes, I know, I was overreacting, but the day hadn't been lenient to me, and _he_ was just adding oil to the flame. I have a right to lash out, I assured myself as I tried to ignore the hurt expression that was just about to take over my brother's automatically composed face.

We stood facing each other for a long time, me staring into the face that would soon be gone for good. Ren looked taken back, and he was blinking rapidly at me like he'd just seen me for the first time in his life. Well, this _was_ the first time I've expressed my…feelings…toward him so openly. Oh, and now he was starting to pull the hurt-puppy face on me.

"I don't want you here!" I snarled, the hatred boiling in me, making me want to shudder, to throw something at him. "All you ever did is making me feel like second-handed goods. All you ever did is make me a maid while _you_ were treated like a god. _Go die somewhere and leave me be_! GET. OUT!"

And I did throw something at him. I didn't remember what exactly went flying toward Ren, but it must have been glass, because I remembered it shatter against the wall. I remembered seeing a piece of it cut across my brother's cheek, remembered seeing a bit of red rolling down his face, remembering hearing my parents yelling and their footsteps running toward us.

I stood still in shock as Ren stared at me, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. Then, to my surprise, he quickly locked my door from the inside and slammed it shut. I heard my parents talking like crazed parakeets behind the door and Ren trying to assure them that it was an accident and so on and so forth. I, for my part, just stared at the door.

Only one thought occupied my mind: _I'm in big trouble._

After what seemed like an eternity, the footsteps faded into the distance, and I collapse into my chair, breathing hard. What just happened? Why did I…do what I did? Sure, I was annoyed at Ren and all, but…I couldn't have gotten it to that extent, could I?

My eyes traveled to the shattered pieces of whatever it was that I've thrown at Ren. Yeah, that just happened.

Taking several shuddering breaths, I listened to the sound of the garage door being opened, our car getting out, and then closing. Then I shut down my computer, having lost the interest to type down anything and turned off the light before going to bed early.

It was the last time I saw my brother.

* * *

Sibling envy taken one step too far. Exaggerated, I know, but tolerance can only hold up for so long. And not to mention it was an Asian family. Vietnamese (I know that because I'm one) parents - the old-fashioned ones - are rather sexist. They always favor male offspring more than females, _especially_ the eldest.

This is just to give my story a backbone. Feel free to send dreadful (but helpful, mind you) comments. I'll appreciate it.

~the Apprentice


	2. I Man and Monkey

**Chapter 1 - Man and Monkey**

There was no such thing as absolute silence.

Of course, things could be _extremely_ quiet and still, but something like that simply didn't happen. The conditioner in the house would buzz, the TV would talk, the microwave would beep, the pot would shriek…and so on. Total silence had never existed, and it probably never would. Even the Powers That Be didn't seem to approve of the existence of such a thing, due to the invention of teenagers, Mp3s, and the love that existed between two sides that at some level transpired even parental love. Amazing, right?

And then there, in the middle of the crowd, you would find a little nobody who just _wished_ that the idiot sitting in front of her row of seat would turn down the freaking Linkin Park song.

Yes, that would be me.

I glared sullenly at the slowly nodding head directly in front of me, keeping its movement prime with the beat of the song that, despite the ear buds stuck in his ears, was still clearly heard two rows down. Not to mention the fact that we were on a bus full of children going on a field trip to a museum. The fact that I could hear it loud and clear even at this distance meant that either the kid was deaf or I'd just gained super hearing overnight (and logic dictated the former).

Briefly, I considered chucking my three-pound book at his head, then decided against it. I wouldn't be able to do it anyway, and the teacher was sitting directly behind me. Unlike me, though, _he_ was too engrossed in his book to notice anything amiss, and also unlike me, he was blessed with single-minded concentration. I did not. Thus the bother with the loud music and the owner of said music's projector.

I stared at the bobbing head for a long moment before rolling my eyes and sat back in my chair with a huff. It wasn't worth it. The kid who was doing the music was one of those guys who, when you started arguing with them, get into your face and wouldn't stop talking until _you_ stopped, completely ignoring you and then proclaimed smugly "I didn't think so". I knew better than to try.

With my option reduced to "deal with it", I decided to ignore the music as much as I possibly could and stared out at the window instead. How longer until we reached the museum? How long was the _actual_ visit trip? We left at ten in the morning and were supposed to be back at campus at two o'clock. Already we wasted two hours traveling. That left two hours…of boring walking-around staring at things we'd all seen the previous years.

Richardson Middle School was one of the top schools in the district and the single best school in both academic and athletic front. Its teachers were awesome. It was brand new and well-kept. Sadly, it was severely lacking in Fine Arts subjects and everything associated with them. Hence the often boring and repetitive field trips. It didn't help that one of the school's annual rituals involved a trip to the closest museum with every grades.

Apparently it carried over to the high school it fed into, because this was yet another one of them. I was a ninth grader, so this would presumably be my third-to-last trip taken to the place (which some of the students dubbed "the Mark" because it always took place one week before summer vacation), and as always I couldn't quite work up the enthusiasm for it. Sure, the place was great and all – it was said to be the biggest one in the county – but I was the type to get bored easily. This was no different. Two years to the exact same place, not to mention the extra trips with my mother, wore on one's nerves eventually.

"At least this'll be the semi-last time," I muttered to myself, following a bright purple car with my eyes as it passed us. "Maybe next year the high school would have something more interesting." I'd never stepped foot into a planetarium in my life. _That_ would be a good change of space.

"Are you saying something?"

Startled, I turned to look behind me. Green eyes were peering at me through square-glasses, with one sandy eyebrow raised high above one of them. The other was wriggling.

I stifled a giggle. "Nothing, Mr. Rancher."

The eyebrow rose a _little_ higher.

"Really," I insisted. "Just thinking about the trip, is all."

"Ah, the trip." Mr. Rancher closed his book with a snap and used his pinky to push his glasses up his nose. "In my opinion, it would have been really great had they not made the program a routine and right at the end of school, when the kids would all collectively treat it as a get-out-of-class day and a time beacon rather than what it is supposed to be. And you know the worst part of all? They _censored_ the Roman section!"

I had no complains about nude statues. After all, they were simply statues. However, I thought there was a good reason why they censored it: some people who made sex jokes in class everyday didn't seem capable of handling an unclothed marble figure. Of course, the real reason behind the censor could be attributed to overly concerned parents who coddled their children too much and didn't want to bare the dangerous world to them at the ripe age of fifteen, but I found out that reasons like that sat much better with me if I simply pretended they did it personally for _me_.

I deluded myself for my own good. It was therefore arguable that such delusions were not harmful.

To appease my History teacher, I replied with, "I think the parents are terrified of their kids seeing the rusty weapons and the bloody historic descriptions in there. We are all _innocent_, _unmarked_, _naïve_ children after all."

The teacher's other eyebrow joined the first. "One of the things I like about you, Miss Nguyen, is that you talk like an adult and have useful insights others are capable of but did not think about. You, however, have much harmful sarcasm in you and seemingly did not know when or how to best spit it out, so to speak."

I flushed at the admonishment, prepared to defend myself, but the old teacher didn't give me a chance. He did so by grinning brightly – the kind of grin that never failed to give me the impression that he was Albert Einstein's younger cousin – and pointed out the window. "There it is!"

He was right. The bus was pulling up near a massive structure of red stones, glass doors/windows and possessing a massive graveled square that served as its front yard. There was a large fountain there that I hadn't seen completed last year. Now it stood proud and spilling water as it was supposed to. There was a giant pair of Egyptian statues standing near the front door on each side like some sort of guardians, and a red banner was strung above the door. It read: "_The Wadjet Tour_", and then a line of hieroglyphs beneath it. Classic.

All around me people sprang to their feet. The chattering that had been loud before now escalated to an unbearable level with some screaming laughter thrown in for spice. I winced slightly at the noises, standing up myself, and patiently waited for everyone to get off before following them.

When we were all outside, Mr. Rancher put his fingers to his mouth and blew off a piercing whistle. He waited until we were silent, gave us all a quick count, before turning to a pretty lady with auburn hair beside him and spoke to her in a quiet tone. The conversations resumed, but at a softer level than before. It wasn't hard to note that nobody was talking about the visit. There was even an argument between cream pie v. apple pie, but nothing on the museum.

Yes, it was that boring. No, I wasn't going to be a nerd and deny it.

"All right," the lady said loudly, clapping her hands together and gaining our attention in the process. "Hello and welcome to the Ashford Museum. My name is Hayley Doe, and I will be your guide for today. Mr. Rancher here told me that this is your third visit to the museum in the past three years, so I assume you know the rules, yes?"

A murmur of agreements rose from the class. Miss Doe nodded in satisfaction and turned away, walking toward the front door. Mr. Rancher gave us one last warning look, spared a wink at the geek-on-duty, a guy called Jeremy Fowler, before following her. The rest of us tailed him.

We entered the museum with no problem. The rules were the exact same from the year before (and the year before that). No cameras – which meant no phones, also – no bags, jackets must be worn _on_ the body and not tied around your waist, and _please keep a safe distance from artifacts at all time_. This was repeated twice by the guard on duty. Then we were allowed through.

If it wasn't anything else, the museum was big. The ceiling was at least fifty feet high, and the halls themselves were somewhat dim lit, but by no mean dark. Tourists were everywhere, although children from six to eighteen were a rare sight. Many small pictures were hung on the ceilings, some just there for taste, while others were real artworks too big to theft and too strong to ruin being put on display.

There was virtually no need of a map when you were with a tour guide and a horde of high school kids, but I grabbed one anyway in the off chance that I somehow got lost. A few students gave me odd looks, but I ignored them.

The layouts hadn't changed, but the labels had. No longer was there a Vincent van Gogh collection in the eastern section of the third floor. It was now called _Mourners_. On the second floor, there was a small section labeled _Wadjet Tour_.

I knew what Wadjet was – or more accurately _who_ she was. It was yet another Egyptian tour to be made, which was surprising because just the year before we had King Tut come over for a visit. Then again, it didn't matter to me. We were forbidden to go there anyway.

Folding the map back up, I tucked it into an inner pocket of my jacket and quickly followed my tour, which had left me behind a fair bit in the time that I took to check the locations in the museum. I caught up with them just as they were about to enter an elevator, and we all filed into the ridiculously huge space.

The first visit was to a reconstruction of the insides of a Victorian house. We sat down there, talked for a few minutes about some paintings I didn't really care about (I liked jewelries and _three-dimensional_ artifacts best). Then we got up again and were marched to another section to look at some very creatively made Mexican paper skeletons, then to another section in the museum about medieval castle. We took a short tour through the area where they kept all the things about the feudal era of Japan, which grabbed the attention of most people – mostly because they've got two complete, authentic samurai armor suits _and_ a real katana, plus a willow longbow and its quiver – but then we moved on to view some "modern art", and everyone started mentally drifting off again.

"Now," Miss Doe said at about twelve o'clock, "we will go and have lunch in the garden. Please remember to throw your garbage where they belong and do not break anything."

I glanced outside at the garden she was talking about. It was completely bare and graveled except for a small artificial waterfall and a very big oak tree.

We all followed her, single-lined, out into the open space and started picking our spots to settle down. A group huddled near the waterfall, another large one right beneath the oak tree, while the others simply sat cross-legged on the ground and started into their sandwiches and whatnot.

I retreated to a darker corner in the area, far from any spying eyes (I wasn't exactly free of bullies either, nor was I above getting bullied in any way) and started to unpack my lunch in silence. The less attention the better.

Teriyaki chicken, a slice of bread, scrambled eggs, and baby carrots…My mother had thought of everything. She had been by no mean happier now than before my father left her in the…incident that took my brother away, but she hadn't let it killed her either. She still did things she'd always done before he left. She was strong like that.

Sometimes I was terrified for her because she'd gotten along so fast. Sometimes I envied her because she cared and yet _still_ managed to pick herself back up no matter what. Sometimes I was just outright _glad_ my father had left. After Ren, everything in the house became awkward and strange anyway. It wasn't as if my life depended on him or anything, in the end.

"Ooh, is that barbecue?"

I started (for the second time) that morning and glanced toward the voice, my hand already straying to the plastic fork my mother had packed with the lunch. What I saw completely threw me off.

It was a middle-age goofy and messy-looking guy in some kind of stained lab coat. His blonde hair was a rat's nest, his face was stretched in a somewhat crazed grin. The stains on his coat looked suspiciously like barbecue sauce stains I saw on my mother's white apron from time to time. He wore a black plain t-shirt beneath the lab coat, and there was a monkey perched on his shoulder.

Wait, wait, wait. Back off a little. A _monkey_ on his shoulder?

"This is Khukhi, my baboon friend," the guy introduced the monkey as though he was introducing his long-time colleague. Then he promptly redirected his attention to my lunchbox. "So is that barbecued chicken?"

It took me a moment to answer. Since he asked the question anyway, I decided to go along with it. "Er, no. It's…it's teriyaki chicken. And bread. And carrots." Were those glowing symbols _floating_ across his lab coat? No. No, it must've been something else. Illusion. Sun playing tricks on my eyes. Yeah, probably that.

The guy pursed his lower lip. "Well, now, you didn't have to tell me _that_. I can identify vegetables."

Khukhi grumbled darkly, obviously disagreeing with him. The human rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Make fun of me all you want." He then proceeded to smile at me again. It was supposed to be kindly and reassuring, I think, but the excitement and the strange spark in his eyes unnerved me more than anything. I started to scoot away from him. "Say, Miss, can you be so kind as to share a bit of that with this old guy? It smells terrific!"

I had half a mind to call for help right then just as I simultaneously cursed my decision to become the flower wall in the first place. "It's…it's my lunch," I managed to stammer. "You c-can't have it! Not for free!"

The strange man straightened again and appeared to be genuinely thinking about it. I slowly got to my feet and prepared to back away, but the monkey's intelligent eyes found mine, and they held a warning. Swallowing, I simply straightened and stood still, rooted to the spot. Somewhere in the back of my mind, my rational side scoffed at how stupid this was, me being threatened by a _monkey_ of all things, but Khukhi or whatever it was _wasn't_ bluffing. I knew that much.

"I've got it!" the man proclaimed suddenly in the kind of tone that an inventor would proclaim to the world how he'd just discovered a permanent cure for cancer. He bent down a little until we were pretty much eye-level and smiled in a conspiring way. "How about this? You give me all of your chicken, and I'll share with you a secret that can potentially change your life forever?"

My mouth moved before my mind could. "Er, no thanks. Just-just take the chicken. Take all of it…And leave me alone, please?"

"But that won't be fair at all!" the guy insisted, then paused. "But I guess it can't do any harm. The entire lunch box for the secret, then?"

"No! I don't _want_ the secret. Just take it and leave me alone. Please?" And I shuddered to think what kind of _secret_ this guy would give me. Surely he wasn't about to do something inappropriate here? Because monkey or no monkey, I _would_ scream, and I could scream _very_ loudly.

The man frowned slightly, and for a moment I feared. Then he shrugged and knelt down to take the lunchbox, leaving me with the bottle of water. "About the present," he began, and continued on before I could do anything, "You should check out the _Wadjet Tour_. I assure you that you will like it. Thanks for the chicken!" With another madcap grin, the guy marched off.

I stared after him, wondering when a security would rush up to him and march him out of the door because of the monkey. Strangely enough, he walked across the garden full of goofing students without earning even a second glance. When he exited, there was a guard right _there_, and he didn't even look at the guy at all. It was like the man was invisible to anyone there but me.

For a long time, I stood rooted to the spot where the strange man had left me. Then I picked up the water bottle still on the ground and slowly made my way to the oak tree, where Mr. Rancher and the majority of my class were. They still chattered on as though nothing was wrong.

My hands were shaking so badly that the water in the bottle churned.

**0o0o0o0o0**

Like any good girl who had just met a crazy man with a baboon on his shoulder, I went to report to securities.

Like any good grown-ups who heard from a girl about her meeting with a crazy man with a baboon on his shoulder, they brushed me right off like I was a troublesome bug and kicked me right back with my group.

"Look, Miss," one of the securities said, waving his handheld radio at me, "if the man you said is around–" His voice suggested that he thought it was some kind of tall tale a silly child was making up "–then we'll surely get him."

And that was the end of that. I rejoined my class a few moments later, a lot of them seemingly curious at my venture and some even snickering. I turned back to see the securities shaking their heads at me. Growling low in my throat and trying to hide the blush with my hair (which was thankfully long enough for such a task), I quickened my steps.

Luckily, Mr. Rancher and the guide were nice enough not to say anything. They just turned around and led us on, Miss Doe chattering about our next destination.

I didn't hear anything. My mind was too occupied by the appearance of the man and the blatant obliviousness the others had shown. There was no _way_ they could ignore him – that baboon was neither small nor cute nor hide-able. It was sitting there in plain sight. And even if the guards somehow didn't want to admit it, which I couldn't fathom why, the fact that he walked among a bunch of kids without anyone making a peep was just plain impossible. Not weird, _impossible_.

That left one last possibility: the man never existed and I simply imagined him.

My brain instantly came up with a dozen theories to contradict that, some logical and some senseless. I picked out the best and allowed it to run through my head: my lunchbox was still gone. If he hadn't taken it, who had? I was there in the garden's corner alone, and had I left it behind someone was bound to notice by now, because right after us there was a couple of cleaners coming in to take the trash out and all that. Someone would have said something. It wasn't as though it looked like trash; the lunchbox was bright blue with Little Ponies printed all over it.

…No, I couldn't have been insane, I assured myself. That meant that the crazed I'd just met was real, he left with my lunchbox and left me with nothing but a bottle of water, and the adults refused to believe me about him – and he got a freaking live _baboon_ on his shoulder! How did he even get in here? Climb the wall? Maybe. But then again, I would've noticed.

Or perhaps I was just spacing out. But that once again didn't explain how he managed to clear the garden without raising any sort of alarms. Miss Doe was with us. Mr. Rancher was with us. The entire _class_ was there…yet no one said anything?

And then there was what the guy said.

I pulled the map out and opened it. There, on the third floor, was the area that the Egyptian tour occupied. Make no mistake – I wouldn't be going there. Who would be stupid enough to listen to a stranger (who might or might not have been a product of her imagination)? And what if he _was_ real? What if he was in there, waiting?

Still, why would he say that? What was so…interesting about this? It was very strange.

Curiosity flared within me, but I quickly dampened it down before it could grow. I knew that feeling. If I let it, it would continue to take up space until I could either die or find out everything about the subject of said curiosity. And let me tell you this, they didn't invent the saying "curiosity kills the cat" for nothing.

Aside from that, I tried to convince myself, I couldn't go anyway. First and foremost I didn't have the money, and I was on a tour with a class. Students were typically not allowed into places like that. One way or another, we wouldn't step foot onto the third floor. There was nothing there for us to see.

That was, if we wouldn't have the _Mourners_ collection on our schedule…

"All right then," Miss Doe's voice forced my attention back to her. "We will now go to your last destination."

Some moans. Especially from those who had Algebra in the afternoon.

"This particular collection will be called the _Mourners_. It is a group of fantastically crafted marble statues – none of them much bigger than a Barbie doll – taken from a tomb not long ago. You'll see them for yourselves once we get up there. Follow me, please."

The other students in front of me started moving, but I stood still as a statue, staring after her with wide eyes. _What_ did she just say?

My eyes were drawn back to the map. The _Mourners_ section was right next to the _Wadjet Tour_. Either this was a freakish coincidence or someone was playing with me. Or my head. Probably both.

In the end, I folded the map up again, put it away, and jogged to catch up to my class. It didn't matter. There was no way I was going in _there_. I couldn't anyway, so why worry? There were probably securities and people all over the place as well. It was impossible to get in on this tour or without a ticket, which were both my limitations.

Besides, I wouldn't be that stupid.

* * *

_Amazingly enough, I decided to continue this fanfiction._

_To answer the reviewers from the last chapter, I intended to give Kathy - or, really, Miss Nguyen, as she prefers to call herself - a bit of a background and an explanation of what would be driving her throughout the story first _before _the actual story. It's a new tactic I was trying out, so I apologize if it confused you._

_And for those who thought this thing is moving way too slowly (because this chapter _is _really longer than it should be), I believe in such a thing as pacing. Don't count on me to dive headfirst into action. Action is only cool if there's a reason for it anyway. So please bear with me as I work things out in order._


End file.
